A Battle Without Weapons
by Tex110
Summary: Peter has been accepted to a university, but as soon as he recieves the letter of acceptance, Edmund's nightmares return. The brothers will soon find that it is possible to fight a war that does not involve steel and blood...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **Hello all! My muse has so kindly returned to me, and inspired me to do a multi-chapter fic. I know that the whole 'Peter at school' line has been done many times, but I put several twists on the plot in my mind so it'll be different. Hopefully it turns out the way I want it to. ;)

And if you have any ideas to what's behind the title of this story, I'd love to hear them. Just a little thing I'd like to know about, if you've got the time.

An enormous thanks to my beloved little sister for proofreading this chapter for me. You rock, Boo!

**Disclaimer: **My disclaimer for everything I post is in my profile, but it's best to put it on the stories as well. ahem I do not own any of the characters that appear in this fic. They are all property of C. S. Lewis. My brilliant hero. Oh...and I'm broke, so it won't really do any good to sue me anyway.

**A Battle Without Weapons**

_Edmund walked slowly down the beach, lightly kicking up sand with his bare feet. The sun in the distance gave the sky a warm, pinkish glow. The waves lapped gently at the shore and a small breeze caressed his face as it passed._

_Abruptly, the scenery changed. it was pitch black all around him. He couldn't see his fingers if he held them out in front of himself. A blurry illusion of Lucy appeared in front of him, making his heart speed up a little. She was distraught and holding a quivering dagger out in fear. The youngest queen's voice came alive in the darkness, panicky and fear-constricted._

"_Edmund! Edmund, where are you? Oh, do come quick! They've captured Peter!" Her face was wrought with terror as she cried out for him._

_Then she gasped and whirled around. She dodged something Edmund couldn't see and faded out for a moment. Then she reappeared, panting and clutching her side. _

"_Edmund, help us!"_

_She ducked something and dodged out of sight. Edmund gasped and tried to go after her. But a rock hard, invisible barrier kept him where he was. He fought with it, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of his sister._

_/Lucy/_

"_Edmund?" It was Susan, she was looking straight at him but yet her gaze was pinned on something behind him. Something he couldn't see. She couldn't see him. _

"_Edmund, are you there? It's Peter, he needs you."_

_Suddenly she whirled with a gasp, as if something had startled her. Then she turned back to him, her face panicked. _

"_Edmund, please, we need you!" she cried. _

_Then she stumbled, as if she had received a blow. A quick gasp and then she fled from Edmund's vision. _

_/SUSAN/_

_Edmund called for her, desperately fighting with the unyielding barrier. Then Peter appeared. But unlike Susan and Lucy, he was not calling for Edmund. And he wasn't alone. Hordes of beasts surrounded him like a flood, each intent upon killing him from what Edmund read. An unbidden yell came from Edmund's mouth as he watched Peter fight. Rhindon flicked to and fro in a silvery dance as it felled his attackers. _

_Edmund slammed his fist furiously against the solid restraint, calling his brother's name frantically as he desperately tried to help him. And then his body ceased to move as a new enemy appeared. His blood ran cold. It was Her. Cold and white. He stared in unmatched horror as she advanced on Peter, who was unaware of her presence. _

_/Peter! Behind you/ Edmund called for his brother again, yet there was consistently no avail._

_His throat closed in hot fear. /Peter/ His body came back alive, pounding and thrashing insistently at the invisible wall. _

_Edmund cried and yelled for his brother, hoping against hope that somehow the sound would get through. But it was all in vain. Edmund tried to turn away from the scene, but he could not turn. He tried to close his eyes, but they would not close. He was forced to watch as she came up behind Peter and in a swift stroke, pierced him through with an icy sword. _

_And Edmund screamed. Louder and more piercingly than he had ever screamed in his life. _

_It was as if time had cruelly slowed itself. Edmund saw Peter turn slowly, almost gracefully. His face was slack in surprise as he stared at the Witch's satisfied smile. His eyes darted around, and Edmund knew he was looking for his siblings. He was looking for him. And as his enemies faded and disappeared, he crumpled to the ground._

_/NO/ Edmund staggered backward, flinging himself away from the scene, mouth opened in a soundless scream. /Peter/_

_And suddenly the barrier lifted, throwing Edmund to the ground. Edmund flung himself forward to his brother's prone form on the icy marble floor. _

_/Aslan, help him! Oh, God, do something please! PETER/ Edmund grabbed his brother's shoulders and pulled him into his lap, shaking him desperately. /Peter, say something, please! Do something! Oh God, don't leave me Peter! I tried! I swear, I tried to come/ Tears fell hot and fast down his face as he sobbed. /Oh, God/_

_Edmund hopelessly pressed his hands to the wound. Sticky blood gushed out, coating his hands in a sticky red glove. And then, just like the Witch and her minions, Peter faded away. _

_/No/ Edmund felt the floor in front of him in wild anguish. /Come back! I'm sorry/_

_The barrier closed in around him once again, closing off his oxygen. The faces of his sisters appeared around him._

"_Why didn't you come, Edmund?" Lucy asked, staring at him with a stricken expression._

"_Peter's gone." Susan said, her face twisted in disappointment at her younger brother, tears slipping down her face in silent sobs._

_/I tried/ Edmund tried to scream, thrashing furiously, unaware of the violent sobs wracking his body. /I tried/_

_Aslan's majestic face replaced the girls'. _

_/Aslan! Help my brother! Help Peter/ Edmund cried, shaking with relief at seeing the lion._

"_That was your task, Son of Adam," Aslan intoned, "and yours alone."_

_/NO! Come back! I couldn't do anything/ Edmund kicked fiercely at his enclosure. _

_Aslan faded and left him in darkness. The thick, coppery smell of blood was all he knew. _

"PETER!" Edmund shot bolt upright, the high-pitched scream just leaving his tongue.

Peter's name echoed loudly in the room. He whipped his head this way and that.

He couldn't breathe. His throat seemed to be closing in on him, collapsing inward. Edmund gasped in a panicked rhythm, breaths coming short and shallow. Next to him, Peter was sitting upright, frowning sleepily at him. On the floor at the base of Peter's bed was a suitcase. It was packed and ready to go for the next morning. Ready to go with Peter to the university.

Edmund felt like retching. He clutched his stomach and forced the nausea away from his throat.

"Edmund?" Peter asked, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

Edmund choked on air and scrambled away, tumbling over the bed.

"Edmund, are you alright?" Peter rolled out of bed in alarm, hurrying to Edmund's side. "What's wrong?"

Edmund looked up at him in hazy terror.

"Ed?" Peter reached out towards his little brother, but Edmund backed away.

He stared at Peter's hand like it was a ghost, he stumbled over his feet and fell to the ground.

"Edmund, what's up?" Peter touched Edmund's shoulder.

"NO!" Edmund cried.

He flung himself away from his startled brother, throwing himself at the door and running blindly through the small hallways of their house. Tears coursed down his face in the terror that had not faded away. The guilt and the horror pursued him faster than his worried brother did.

He dashed around the corner and ran smack into his older sister with Lucy trailing behind her.

"Edmund!" she exclaimed, startled, as she caught him. "Whateve-oh."

Susan saw the tears on her little brother's face as he struggled to get away from her, but she held him fast. Peter veered around the corner behind him. Edmund gave a cry of frantic protest and struggled harder.

"Edmund," said Susan softly yet authoritatively. A tone she had often used as Queen of Narnia. "Edmund, calm down. Take deep breaths."

Edmund fisted his hands in her robe and took shuddering breaths as he tried to calm himself down.

"That's it," she encouraged, rubbing his back, "You're alright."

Edmund caught a glimpse of Peter. He looked confused, worried, and a little hurt. Edmund buried his face in his sister's robes. He wanted to cry again. He hadn't meant to hurt his older brother. It just scared him so much, and hurt him to look at Peter after the nightmare. It had seemed like he had betrayed him all over again.

The terror of the nightmare began to fade as Susan murmured softly to him and continued to run her hand up and down his back.

"Let's go back to your room." She suggested after a moment. "And I'll go get mum."

Edmund shook his head violently.

"Alright," said Susan, "well..."

"Let's go to our room," Lucy suggested, tugging at Susan's sleeve and then looking to Edmund for consent.

Edmund clenched his teeth against his emotions and nodded, taking a steadying breath. Then he followed his two sisters into their room. He didn't dare look at Peter again.

"So what happened?" asked Susan, guiding him to Lucy's bed, which was closest to the door.

"Dream." grunted Edmund nonchalantly.

"More like 'nightmare', I think," Susan sighed, "Elaborate, Edmund. Don't hide."

Edmund folded his arms and leaned back against the headboard, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. He blinked several times, willing the rebellious tears to reside.

"Peter died." he said bluntly after a moment, voice threatening to break.

He continued to look at the ceiling, the image of his brother bleeding to death still fresh in his mind. He took a shuddering breath and pressed his lips together tightly.

_Bloody hell, Edmund, don't cry._

"And?" Susan prompted gently.

Edmund's head snapped down from the ceiling, a fierce glare on his face. Lucy was sitting at the base of the bed, hugging her knees and looking sympathetic. Susan looked understanding as she sat in front of him. Peter was standing next to one of the posts at the end of the bed.

"That's all," he snapped angrily.

"We know that's not all, Ed." Lucy whispered. "Please don't run. We want to help you."

Edmund sighed as she entreated him with her large sea-green eyes. He looked away, running a distracted hand through his dark fringe.

When he spoke, it was carefully controlled, though it trembled ever so slightly.

"Peter...well, anyway..." He took a deep breath. "And I couldn't do anything about it. You called for me to help him, Susan. Lucy, you called for me too. But I couldn't come. I had to watch as _she _stabbed him." He was shaking in anger now. "I held you as you died, Peter. And then you faded. Just like everybody else did."

Edmund's jaw shook visibly as he clenched it hard. He determinedly avoided looking at his siblings, choosing instead to stare a hole through the window. He couldn't see it. He couldn't see the silvery moonlight splashing in and onto the rug. All he could see were his hands from the dream, coated with sticky, coppery blood. He could see Peter's warm, sun-like hair streaked with the same color. A deep red.

"Have you been having nightmares like this for long?" Susan asked softly.

Edmund nodded shortly.

"Precisely how long, Ed?" Edmund felt his stomach jolt unpleasantly as he heard his brother's voice.

Edmund steeled himself against tears and slowly turned to face Peter. Now he had reached a no-turning point. The signs were all there in Peter's face. He could see it in the way the china-blue eyes were set and the determined angle of his jaw. Edmund opened his mouth, but suddenly, Lucy stirred at the end of the bed.

"I think I'll go make tea," she whispered.

"At this time of night?" Susan asked incredulously. "You'll definitely wake Mum."

Edmund's gaze flickered to them in time to catch Lucy's 'look' directed towards Susan.

"Of course. We could all use some," the youngest said pointedly, holding Susan's gaze emphatically.

Then she hopped off the bed and scurried from the room on her light feet. Susan must have gotten the message for she, after a moment's pause, stood as well.

"I'll go help her," she said, before adding defensively, "she burned herself last time she tried to make tea."

And she whirled and disappeared from the room like a graceful masquerader. Edmund stared after her in blank confusion. Why would they leave? He knew for a fact that they were certainly not going to make tea. He suspected that they would probably head to the room he and Peter shared for the night.

Across from him, Peter cleared his throat. "Well?"

Edmund met blue eyes, only to receive one of Peter's notorious 'I'm-your-brother-don't-try-anything-because-it's-not-going-to-work' looks.

"Eight weeks," he sighed resignedly.

"Eight weeks?" Peter's clear eyes widened in astonishment. "Edmund, this has been going on for eight _weeks_! Why didn't you tell me?"

Edmund lifted his shoulder in defense, "Yes, Peter, eight weeks. I didn't want to bother you."

"Bother me?" asked Peter in amazement.

Edmund rolled his eyes at his brother in mild exasperation. Peter sometimes got stuck in a state of echoing when he was surprised. In Narnia the habit had dissipated, under Edmund's strict eye, but it appeared to have an annoying rebound tendency.

"Echo," he reminded his brother.

Peter disregarded him and gave him a long, calculating stare. Edmund sighed irritably and looked away.

"Eight weeks," said Peter again, realization mixed with pain slowly crept into his eyes. "That's the same time my acceptance letter came in."

"That has absolutely nothing to do with it," lied Edmund easily, looking Peter straight in the eye.

Despite the situation, Peter began to grin, half-amused, half-sad.

"Liar," he accused softly, "You always look at me like that when you lie."

Edmund sighed. "Alright, alright, I give. Yes, that may have played a part in it."

"Edmund, you should have told me. I could have helped," said Peter, sounding dismayed.

Edmund waved it away and there was a dead silence. A pin dropping would have seemed like a small bomb erupting.

"Perhaps I should just forget it and stay here." The remark was soft, and self-directed.

Peter looked thoughtful as he looked past Edmund.

Edmund turn a fierce glare onto his brother. "Oh, no you don't, Peter," he growled. "Don't you bloody dare!"

"Ed-" Peter sighed.

"I am bloody well _not _going to stop using the word! You listen to me," Edmund leaned forward, eyes glowing vibrantly. "You're going to the university. It's what you've wanted your whole life...well, your whole life in England." he amended. "It's time you stopped killing your dreams to take care of me. I'll be fine."

"Edmund-"

Edmund growled warningly and reached forward to gently cuff his brother on the side of the head.

"Don't you bloody dare," he repeated firmly. "Or I'll haul your sorry body all the way over there by myself."

Peter chuckled. "I doubt you could carry me at all, my dearest brother."

"Only brother." Edmund corrected swiftly, a twinkle in his eye at the memory the banter brought up.

Peter smiled and moved around the bed to join Edmund at the headboard. Edmund tilted his head around to look at him with a scrutinizing eye.

"Don't worry," Peter laughed, "I'm going. Don't look at me like that."

Edmund shook his head, all traces of amusement had left his face. "I know you're going. I'm not threatening you."

"Then what are you doing?" Edmund moved as the query was voiced, causing it to become rhetorical. Peter knew what he was about to do.

Edmund shifted all the way around to face Peter, an odd look flitting across his face. He reached out and let his fingers hover just above Peter's shoulder. Then, without touching him once, he traced his brother's outline with swift, sweeping motions.

Peter sat still, quietly observing Edmund's odd ritual. Edmund was memorizing him. Memorizing him in the only way he knew how. To be honest, the older boy was flattered. Edmund had only done this once before...to their father. Seven words flashed into his mind.

"_You think you're dad, but you're not!"_

That Edmund would be doing this to him now was more than he could comprehend. But he made himself sit back and allow Edmund to continue.

Edmund began to outline Peter's face in the air. And then he did something different, surprising to Peter. With a slight flick, his hand reached out further and put a feather light touch on his cheek. Then he traced again, his fingers ever so slightly brushing the surface of his brother's face.

"You've never done that before," Peter remarked quietly when he was finished. "Why now?"

Edmund shrugged and moved back to his spot against the headboard. "If I touch you I'll be able to remember longer."

"I won't be gone for that long, Ed." Peter reminded him.

Edmund blinked. "I know."

"Then I don't understand." Peter shook his head slowly.

"Don't you?" asked Edmund, shifting his head to face him.

He fixed Peter with a hard stare. "Did you ever see me do this to Dad?"

Peter shrugged, "Once."

"Right before he left," Edmund nodded. "But I never touched him."

"Why not?"

Edmund made a noncommittal noise in his throat. "I'm not sure I really know." He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, a faraway look taking over his face. "Perhaps I was afraid...maybe I didn't want to remember him if he didn't come back. Perhaps it was just pure cowardice."

Peter looked at him and put an affectionate arm around his shoulders.

"You will write me when I'm away?" he asked, changing the subject.

Edmund smirked. "The question is will the head tolerate an influx of letters bombarding his office every day."

Peter hugged him impulsively, "I shouldn't have even asked. But," he continued on a more serious line. "You will tell me if you have any more nightmares?"

Edmund didn't reply.

"Edmund," said Peter warningly, pulling his chin around so he could look at him.

"Swear to me you won't come dashing home if I do," said Edmund. "Swear it on your position as High King. Then, and only then, will I tell you if I've had nightmares."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "I could always ask Lucy or Susan," he pointed out.

"Do it," ordered Edmund firmly, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "The Narnian way."

Peter gave him a playful shove and stood up. He faced Edmund, who mockingly regarded him loftily, a superior look flooding his features.

Peter bit back a smile and kneeled. He put his left hand on his right shoulder and spoke.

"To my Lord, King Edmund the Just, Duke of Lantern Waste, do I swear, dutifully, my oath to remain at my place of study despite report of his horrid nightmares. He shall write me daily, and in return, I shall submit to his request. A request upon which one exception I beg of thee."

Edmund, who was smiling now, no longer able to maintain his lofty expression, raised an eyebrow delicately.

Peter continued, "If thy sisters, our kin, do contact me with concern for your nightly ghosts, I shall return. My return justified by right, and position as High King."

Edmund nodded approvingly. "Then as my position allows, my dear and honorable High King, my brother, I grant it. And may it be that you never hear a single word about my nightmares from our feminine kin."

"It shall be as has been said here tonight," said Peter with a grin, rising and giving Edmund a Narnian bow.

Edmund abandoned all pretense and, smiling, launched himself off the bed to tackle his older brother, aiming precisely so they would land on Susan's bed. He certainly didn't want to wake their mother by landing on the ground.

Peter laughed at him and pushed him off. Then he tackled Edmund.

"Hah!" he said triumphantly.

Edmund shook his head, "You haven't won yet, big brother."

He grinned deviously and stuck his fingers into Peter's ribs on either side. Peter pulled back reflexively, a surprised gasp escaping his lips before he started laughing.

"Edmund...stop..." he gasped between laughter as he tried to evade Edmund's merciless fingers. "...you'll...wake mum..."

"That's just too bad," said Edmund with a mock-innocent expression.

Peter pulled his elbows in to shield his ribs and then grabbed his brother's forearms.

"The girls'll wake too." he pointed out with a grin.

"Alright, alright," said Edmund, relenting. "It's not my fault you can't admit defeat."

Peter ruffled Edmund hair fondly and then returned to Lucy's bed. Edmund followed him, jumping over his legs and settling in next to him with a tired sigh.

"I shouldn't have done that," he yawned, sounding not the least bit repentant. "You'll never wake up for the train tomorrow."

Peter smiled and closed his eyes, leaning back and resting his head against the headboard. "I'll wake up." he murmured.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: **This one took me _forever_ to be satisfied with! Whew! I'm glad you all liked the first chapter. ;) I hope I can keep it up! 

TimeMage has courteously informed me that the reasoning wasn't clear pertaining to Peter's age, so I shall clarify. ahem Nineteen years equals four years in England added to fifteen years in Narnia. The fifteen comes pretty much from the book...I tried to figure out how long he stayed there. It wasn't clear, but I surmised about that much. Basically, Peter's true age is somewhere around twenty eight (Narnian time). I hope that clears things up:) Thanks TimeMage!

Thanks once again to my brilliant sister who read and reread this time and time again!

**Disclaimer: **...don't own them...don't sue...Heh...just go read the disclaimer in my profile.

**A Battle Without Weapons, Chapter 2**

"Peter and Edmund Pevensie, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

The surprised voice of their mother startled both boys from their short-lived dreams. Edmund jolted from Peter's arm and barely managed to catch himself before he flipped off the bed into an ungraceful (not to mention unkingly) heap on the floor.

"Good morning, Mum," said Peter sleepily.

"Good morning, darling," Helen Pevensie greeted her eldest, then she raised a brow. "Might I have an explanation as to why you and Edmund slept in the girls' room and they in yours?"

She looked at them both expectantly.

Edmund glanced at her sheepishly. "That would be my fault," he said.

"How so?" Helen folded her arms, a mock-stern expression on her face.

"Old habit?" he tried hopefully.

"Nice try, Edmund," Helen laughed. "But it's not good enough for me to believe it." she smiled, almost wistfully. "Well, I suppose I'll get an explanation to your odd behaviour someday. But in the meantime, you two need to get up and get dressed. I've got breakfast on the stove, so don't take all morning."

She smiled again and retreated from the room.

Her words struck the reality of things into Edmund, reality he'd been dreading for eight weeks straight. The sound of the door clicking shut evoked a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The kind of sick-nervous feeling you get when you're dreading something more than death itself.

Edmund's face seemed to retreat into itself, almost as if he were isolating his mind and being from what was to be. It shocked him considerably when Peter's hand grasped his shoulder.

"We had better claim our room again if we want to get dressed," the older boy suggested, moving with a sleep-induced, deliberate movement to roll out of the bed.

Edmund nodded wordlessly, swallowing against the sudden lump that had formed in his throat. He followed his sleepy brother down the short corridor and back into their own room.

Lucy and Susan were already up and dressed. Lucy lay on her stomach at the end of Peter's bed, her legs waving to and fro behind her as she rested her chin on folded arms. Susan had one leg tucked neatly beneath her, the other dangled gracefully off the edge of the bed.

"Good morning, sleepies," said Susan brightly as they entered.

"Sleep better?" asked Lucy, rolling over onto her side to get a good look at Edmund's face.

"I didn't wake up for the rest of the night, if that's any sign," said Edmund, shrugging.

Lucy nodded, a hint of a smile flitting onto her face.

"It was just weird seeing her face again," Edmund added, as if to himself.

"I guess we'd better fix our room up," said Susan, a little abruptly, her face vague and a little confused.

"We're not that messy!" exclaimed Peter indignantly.

Susan unsuccessfully held back a smile, "Are you?"

"Of course not," said Peter confidently with an impish grin, "You'll only have to fix your bed."

Smiling, Susan spoke to her sister, "Come on, Lucy."

Lucy shook her head, "You go, I want to talk to Peter and Edmund."

Susan sighed a little. "Lucy, they need to change. You can spend all the time you want with them afterwards."

"They can change in their bathroom," said Lucy dissmissively. "I'm staying here for a moment."

"Oh, alright," said Susan huffily.

She walked away, but not before all of them had seen the amused smile on her face. Peter turned and searched through his diminished wardrobe for some clean clothes. Most of his things were packed neatly in his suitcase. He pulled out a couple of articles and draped them over his arm.

"Come on, Ed," he said, "We won't have time for breakfast if we don't hurry up."

He disappeared into the bathroom with his clothes. Edmund watched him go and let a long, reluctant breath out before heading resignedly to his dresser.

"He'll be back for holiday, Edmund," said Lucy softly from the bed.

Edmund grunted and pulled out whatever clothes his hand touched first. It wasn't as if he really cared what it looked like today.

"Do try and cheer up," Lucy pleaded, heading lightly for the door. "We're all sad that he's leaving but when you're sad the sun seems to darken."

Edmund looked up sharply but only saw the sad expression on his sister's face for an instant before she turned and her plaid skirt edge fled the doorway. He clenched his teeth hard and blinked against the stinging in his eyes.

"Not changed yet?" teased Peter as he came out of the bathroom, tossing his nightclothes into the dirty basket.

Edmund shook his head, trying hard not to look Peter in the eye. He knew he'd lose any control he still had over himself if he did. Apparently Peter noticed, for the tone of his voice altered slightly as he spoke again.

"Well, the bathroom's free," he waved an indicant hand.

The frown he wore on his face was evident in his voice. Edmund gave him a garbled thanks and hurried in to change.

This was bad, he thought wildly as he shut the door. They hadn't even reached the station and he was already battling tears and roiling emotions. Without stopping to think about it, Edmund threw on the garments and splashed water in his face. He didn't even bother to look in the mirror before he tugged the door open again.

Peter gave him a crooked grin as he came out.

"Mum's going to have a fit if you go down like that," he murmured.

"Like what?" Edmund frowned at his brother and glanced down at himself.

He _had_ managed to get the clothes on the right body parts, right? Yes, he had.

Peter got up and rummaged through a drawer in his dresser. "Normally I wouldn't care," he said, pulling out a comb. "But it'll save you Mum's opinion."

Edmund couldn't help but smirk at that. They both knew their mother would have a lengthy speech ready for him about the importance of appearing gentlemanly if he looked a little in disarray. Edmund stood still and allowed Peter to push and comb his dark hair into place.

"There," said Peter, standing back and imitating their mother by narrowing his eyes and peering closely at Edmund's lengthening fringe. "I believe that'll do, as long as Mum doesn't look too closely. I'm afraid I never learned how to do hair properly." he smiled ruefully.

"Thanks," said Edmund gratefully.

"Not a problem, little brother," said Peter, tossing the comb onto the dresser top and steering Edmund out the door. "Now we'd better eat before it gets too cold."

Edmund nodded, the lump forming once again. He wasn't sure he was hungry at all. Nausea built in his throat, making him want to keep his mouth tightly shut.

Breakfast was uneventful, but too short. In a matter of second, it seemed, they were already in the taxi and halfway to the station.

Susan had given up her seat next to Peter for Edmund, who now leaned against his brother with a carefully stoic expression. Susan, Lucy, and most definitely Peter, knew exactly what lay behind that stolid face, having known it for near two decades (though Susan denied this). It was the mask he used to hide his pain or sorrow. He was hiding both this time.

Their mother was in the front passenger seat, sitting quietly. Lucy leaned on Peter from the other side, eyes closed. Susan sat next to Edmund, intently watching the passing scenery.

Moments later, the crunching of gravel beneath the tires of the vehicle told them they were at the station. Peter gently shook Lucy.

"We're here, Lu," he whispered, not wanting to startle her.

Lucy nodded and sat up. "I wasn't asleep," she said, sounding apprehensive.

They all four got out of the car. Peter went around to the back to pick up his suitcase, but Edmund beat him to it.

"Edmund, I'll carry it," Peter protested as Edmund grasped the handle.

Edmund didn't answer, or look at him, as he hefted the heavy baggage and determinedly hauled it off. Peter shrugged helplessly and allowed Lucy and Susan to take his hands. They trailed behind the struggling Edmund, Lucy gripping his hand tightly.

"Here we are," said Helen a little brightly as they neared the train. "Why don't you get your things on board."

She nodded to the train. Edmund had already lugged the suitcase over and begun to drag it up the lip into the train. Peter let go of the girls' hands and hurried over to help him, managing to thread his way through the crowd rather easily. The two of them picked an empty compartment and, after countering several of Peter's protests, Edmund swung the case up and onto the rack. But he never made eye contact.

Then they both went back out again so Peter could say goodbye.

"Goodbye, darling," said Helen softly, giving her oldest a hug. "Do try and write us."

"I will, Mum," Peter murmured, echoing the same words he had uttered nineteen years prior.

He turned to Susan, who tugged him into a gentle, if rather formal, hug.

"We'll miss you, Peter," she said with a sad smile as she pulled back. "Take care."

"Goodbye, Susan."

Peter gave her an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder and then turned to Lucy.

"Bye, Lu," he said.

Lucy threw her arms around his chest and hugged him tightly.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she said sadly, her sweet voice muffled. "I'll miss you so much!"

"I'll miss you too, Lucy," said Peter, hugging her back and giving her short hair a parting tousle.

Then he turned to Edmund. The intensity of his emotions skyrocketed painfully when he saw his baby brother. Edmund stood there, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, staring at Peter's feet. Peter's throat tightened and his heart began to beat faster. What was it about Edmund that could make him about face on a coin by a simple posture? He was just about ready to cancel the whole thing, retrieve his suitcase and go back home with them.

"Oh Aslan, Ed, don't do that," he moaned softly to his brother. "You know you could make me kill myself with that expression."

"Why would I send you to your death when it's killing me to see you board a train alive?" asked Edmund, quietly so only Peter could hear him.

Peter watched him sadly for a moment before stepping forward and pulling his brother into a gentle hug. Edmund tensed ever so slightly at first, but as Peter held him there for a moment, all his reserves broke down in the space of a second. Abandoning his self-restraint, Edmund threw his arms around Peter, fiercely returning the hug and burying his face into the grey sweater. He didn't cry, but his shoulders trembled as a tell-tale sign. He was crying inside. Peter knew it because he'd been doing the same thing ever since the birth of Susan. He'd sword he would never cry in front of his sibling so as to protect them from fear. And he'd never lost control...except for once, after the Battle of Beruna.

Edmund gasped shakily, fisting his hands into the back of his brother's shirt. Peter just held him, running his hand in small circled on his back.

"It's alright, Ed," he murmured quietly. "I'll come back as soon as holiday starts, I promise."

Edmund nodded and then barely pulled away, his jaw clenched hard, his brow wrinkled slightly in a frown. The train whistle blew warningly.

"Write me," Peter reminded him, dropping an affectionate kiss on the top of his head.

"I will."

Edmund nodded and bit his lip hard. Peter gave his family a last look and hurried to the train, his profile quickly vanishing inside the metal transport.

Blinking desperately against the tears that fought to spill over and down his face, Edmund raised a hand and waved as the train began to move. Peter's familiar form appeared through a window, waving goodbye as he was taken around the bend. Edmund was halfway glad there was a bend there, for if there hadn't been he was positive he would have run after the train and leapt aboard without a second thought if only it would keep him close to Peter. But then it disappeared.

Edmund stared wistfully after it, clenching his hands to keep the from trembling, eyes pained. He wouldn't see Peter for the next three months. What would he do at home? After school, he and Peter had usually done everything together. They played croquet (they'd never finished a game because each one played host to a heated banter, eventually resulting in a mock brawl), they would explore together, or simply sit in silence near the stream close to their house. Sometimes Lucy came along with them, trotting to keep up with their longer strides.

But now he was just making up excuses. He was going to miss Peter terribly, he should just take it for what it was.

A smaller hand slipped into his own.

"Mum says it's time to go, Edmund," said Lucy quietly.

Even her voice sounded a little thick. Reluctantly, Edmund turned and followed her back to the taxi. He wasn't sure he wanted to leave the station and go home. He wanted to stand there on the platform and wait. Wait until the train returned with Peter.

He was on his own now, he realized with a pang. Dad wasn't even home yet. They hadn't heard anything from him in forever; meaning it was long past the youngest time Edmund could remember, if he even cared to recall upon his past in England. It was up to him to look after the girls now.

On the way back he sat next to Lucy, ever grateful for her comforting presence. She had curled up and put her head on his lap, holding his hand securely. It never ceased to amaze him how easily she could manipulate him just by being there. Her small being, curled up and resting against him, comforted him more than he'd expected.

_/Thank Aslan for you, Lucy./_

He leaned back and closed his eyes.

A blood-curdling shriek. A blinding flash of blue. The clash of metal against metal. Peter losing the battle against the Witch. Peter screaming his name.

He snapped his eyes open again, subconsciously tightening his grip on Lucy's hand. He saw that every time he closed his eyes now. And with a feeling of dread, he wondered if he would last until Peter returned...or would these demons break him?


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **:holds head in hands, groaning: What a chapter! This was a right little bugger to articulate into a story...long too. I hope it's alright. And :winces: understandable. I probably shouldn't be writing at two 'o clock in the morning either...I hope it's believable.

This takes place a month after Peter reaches the university.

And another thing: I know the whole 'bully theme' is pretty common in stories, but I'm trying to make this one different. He has different reasons (hopefully) and a different drive than most...I think. :shakes head: I dearly hope it doesn't come out sounding exactly like your story, ohcEEcho. :hides: I swear, I'm not trying to copy! He won't have a large part in the story anyway. Pax:puppy dog eyes:

Thank you, once more, to my sister for reading it over. :nods:

And a huuuuuge thank you to all my lovely, encouraging reviewers! You make chapters like this worth it. You really do. I love you all for it:)

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it. Nope.

**A Battle Without Weapons: Chapter three**

The sun was only just peeking above the horizon when Peter shot up from his bed with a sharp gasp. What in Narnia had _that _been? All he could hear was his breathing in the large dormitory. Something was wrong. Missing...where was Edmund! He felt the bed around him frantically for a moment and then his hand smacked into the bedside desk.

Oh, right, he was still at the university. Peter exhaled slowly and put the back of his hand to his perspiring forehead, raising the other to blow on it to ease the stinging from the desk. One of his roommates gave a loud snore and shifted in his bed. A long, relieved sigh blew out from between Peter's lips and he flopped backward onto his pillow again, staring up at the ceiling.

This was his fourth week at the university and this was the countless time he'd been shocked from his sleep by a terrifying image. An image he couldn't ever remember. Peter searched his mind. Nothing. Why was it that Edmund was plagued by nightmares too horrible to even recount, and he, Peter, was pursued by grotesque, terrible images that he had no memory of in consciousness? He shuddered, as if to shake off the haunted feeling that had crept over him.

Not two minutes later, Peter sat up again. He knew he'd never get back to sleep with only an hour until the wake up bell rang. So, practical by nature, he got up and headed for the bathrooms. There, he doused his whole head in the sink and then shook it briskly, sending droplets of water all over the place. The cold water brought him around completely, and then he combed his hair into place with a hand moving only by routine.

He walked back to his bedside and pulled out the materials he would be reviewing today. It seemed ridiculous to some, how much he studied, but he let it all roll. He knew all of the subjects pretty much by heart now, having read them over three times the day before, and three times a day since acceptance. It always made him feel better to know them like this...not to mention the fact that it was habitués from the time he was twelve.

Two seconds later, or so it seemed, the wake-up bell sounded loudly through the dorm, sending his sleeping roommates flying from their mattresses. Peter didn't miss a beat in his reading, he didn't even look up. He could hear the commotion in the bathroom as each of the other boys fought for a sink. If there were one thing he enjoyed about being up earlier than everyone else, it was missing the chaos of the morning prep.

The bell rang once again and Peter gathered up his books into a neat pile and headed out the door for the first class of the day. As it turned out, the first class was math. Peter could have taken the exams on math that day and passed with flying colors (not that he would have told anyone). He'd often had to use math in Narnia when he was planning battles or the like and the classes were very simple to him. Most of the time he found himself applying the math to one of the wars he'd already used it in.

It hadn't taken long for him to become the teachers' pet of most of the instructors. He was interested, listened intently, did his homework, asked questions, and truly seemed to enjoy all of his classes. Some people resented him for it, others loved him for it, some didn't care. But, being himself, Peter was completely oblivious to it all.

It was that day, Monday, that he received his usual letter from Edmund. Peter moved first and foremost to the mail station as he always did at lunch hour. He knew a letter would be waiting for him, but he still harbored the doubt.

The sight of the white envelope resting in his slot evoked a delighted grin. He greeted the man behind the counter cheerfully and took the letter, returning to the dormitory to read it. He would be skipping lunch over it, but it wasn't as if he remembered there was lunch at the moment. Edmund's familiar scrawl skittered over the front of the envelope. Peter smiled fondly at it before opening it with hands that shook ever so slightly.

_Peter,_

_As you know, I am not allowed to address this to you in your rightful title, otherwise this would have been addressed as so. Forgive your rule abiding brother._

Peter snorted. A rule-abiding Edmund Pevensie? When Lucy was vindictive, perhaps. He read on.

_I hope everything with you is alright. Its rather abysmal over here, as usual. And may I add my warnings? Hang it all, it's always going to be in here, and you know it. _

_Kindly remember that if I hear one word that hints even slightly at your becoming like one of the pompous, stuck-up, fops, I shall come over personally and boot your royal self back into shape. _

_There, that's done and over with. So, on to the letter again._

Here there was a slight line of ink that ran out of line with the rest of the letters.

_Drat the girl, she's done it again. Honestly Peter, I don't know how you do it. I've been looking after the girls (and Mum) and it's like having an adrenaline boost every bloody five minutes! One way or another, I'm always leaping out of my chair to check on them because, either Lucy's screamed or Susan has made some kind of exclamation. I think I've already left this letter eight times to see to them because of it. Just look at that flaming line just above this paragraph! _

Peter smiled, a bit sadly. He missed them so much.

_Do you get any days off soon? A spring break? It's already been a month! You'd better come home if you get a spring break. If I find out you did and you didn't come...you'd come home wouldn't you?_

_Before you ask in your reply, no I have not had any nightmares recently, just for your peace of mind. Knowing you though, you've probably been up all night wondering if I have. I have not. Stop fretting._

Peter's eyes caught a glimpse of white ceiling as they rolled. He cupped his chin in his hand. That right there was a lie on paper. No nightmares? His royal crown Edmund hadn't had nightmares. If his acceptance letter had started nightmares, his absence certainly would continue them, or even increase their intensity. If, indeed, that were possible.

_My school has been going fine. It's all rather a bore, since I've already learned it all, except for perhaps geography. I can name all the sub-counties in Narnia, but I have no idea about our world. I did pass my math test with an A+ though. Mum says she's pleased, but I believe she thinks I'm on something. Remember when I used to bring home F's?_

_My english test was good too. I laughed so hard on one of the questions that I had to be sent out into the hall for a drink. It was the same question Mr. Tumnus used to drill into my head for hours at a time._

Peter chuckled at the scene this depicted. He could just see his brother bursting into a fit of laughter in the middle of a test. It was exactly like him. Then the laughter faded from his face. He wished he could have been there to congratulate Edmund on his scores. He'd had to leave just a few weeks before Edmund's major tests, since his brother's private school had a different schedule than other schools. Peter's mind briefly considered taking the next train back...but he finished the letter.

_At any rate, we're doing fine back here. If we can do well without you around. _

_Your wistful brother,_

_Edmund_

Peter's gaze lingered on Edmund's scrawling, swirly signature. Why, in all of Narnia, hadn't he stayed home? Deeply confused with himself, Peter pulled a clean sheet of paper from his desk and began his reply. he finished it quickly, hoping to get it to the office before second period started. He folded it up and addressed it neatly and hurried for the door. But then he stopped. A split seconds' consideration and he strode back to the desk, picking up Edmund's letter and tucking it safely into the pocket of his shirt. Then he hurried down the corridors to the mail office.

As he went, he took a casual glance at the clock. There were five minutes to go before the bell rang, signaling the start of second period. With a word of protest, he increased his pace to a run and reached the office panting.

"Girlfriend have a heart attack or something, kid?" asked the man behind the desk, grinning.

Peter blinked in confusion, trying to suck in more oxygen as he shook his head. "What?"

"You've got a letter tucked into your shirt and you're in a hurry to send this off before second period," the man said, "Your girlfriend in trouble?"

Peter smirked at him good-naturedly, "This is for my brother."

The man looked at him in mock-surprise.

"Brother, eh?" he said curiously, then he laughed. "It's off to London again then, I suppose?"

"London." Peter confirmed with a nod.

He and the post office manager had a pretty good relationship, because Peter saw him every day to send off his usual letter to Edmund. Not to mention that he was there frequently to pick up Edmund's letters.

"Not going far then," said the man, gingerly taking the letter between his thumb and forefinger, expertly flipping it into a slot. "Here we go, I'll get it sent off today for you."

A smile flickered briefly onto the eighteen-year-old's face. "Thanks."

The man nodded, "No problem, off you go."

Peter said thank you again and hefted his books under his arm as he hurried away fro the next class as the bell rang. He found himself wishing he hadn't run to the mail office, this next class was on the third floor and he had less than five minutes to reach it. He hurried up the long stairways, almost empty of people now.

"Hey, Pevensie!" The call echoed down to him from the next staircase.

Peter looked up and saw a brown-haired, rather muscular boy waving at him. A frown touched his face as recognition ignited. This was the boy who seemed to have taken a dislike to him from the first day of school, but why? Peter couldn't guess. He really didn't want to deal with this right now. Jonathan had been, over the past month, throwing insults at him whenever they passed each other. Peter hoped it wouldn't be more than just a passing jibe today.

"Hello," he said uncertainly as he continued up the steps.

The boy blocked his way, looking falsely cheery.

"Famous Peter Pevensie," he said thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry, what's your name?" asked Peter, feeling repelled.

It was as if their auras clashed negatively. Pushed away from each other like identical magnets.

"Jonathan Brooks," said the boy, then changed the subject faster than the speed of light.

"Who's the letter from?"

Peter's entire being shrank away from Jonathan. There was something foul about him that his instincts warned him about. Something that emanated from Jonathan's presence. Something...Jadis-like. Very cunning, deceptive, and above all, cruel.

"It's from my brother," he said slowly. "Why?"

"Oh, how sweet, your brother," Jonathan poked out his lower lip in a mock-sympathetic expression. "Your brother is Edmund, right?"

Peter started. "How-?"

"Did I know?" Jonathan cut him off with a hollow laugh. "He was below me in our classes in London."

Recognition slammed into Peter like a blow. Now he knew where he'd seen this boy. He'd been at the private school he and Edmund had been enrolled in for the past four years. He'd shared some classes with him even. Peter wondered what had happened...Jonathan had always been a rather pleasant individual in the past.

"Edmund. Yes. The pathetic little midget who was so timid and dull he couldn't even get himself a friend. Not even good grades!"

Peter set his jaw and clenched his fist in his pocket. He didn't know why he was reacting so heatedly, for himself at any rate. Yes, Jonathan had insulted Edmund, but it usually took a very potent insult to get him to react visibly.

"I fail to see any reason behind this conversation," he said, lips barely moving.

"I fail to see any reason behind this conversation," Jonathan mimicked. "How polite. Your brother was never that polite to me. Everyone felt sorry for him. Poor, short, pathetic little Edmund. Even without friends to distract him he couldn't manage a good grade!"

Peter felt his face burn. He was all for slamming the insolent minotaur-ish fiend into the wall right now, but luckily for Jonathan, the warning bell rang.

"I have to get to my next class," said Peter, desperately trying to remain under control.

What had happened to him? Why was he reacting like this? Was he falling apart? Or was his world falling apart around him?

"Being late for once going to kill you?" Jonathan mocked.

"I prefer to be on time," said Peter. "Please move."

Jonathan shook his head and continued to block Peter's attempts to pass him, "Still polite. No wonder the teachers like you."

Peter bit back an exasperated sigh.

"I'm not trying to." he murmured.

"Does everyone feel sorry for you too?" Jonathan ignored him, "Poor Peter, just like his pitiful little brother. Let's all be nice and kind to them."

"Please move."

Peter was really starting to fret now. With the state he was in currently, he wasn't sure what would happen if he didn't leave. Now.

Jonathan shook his head, continuing to deny him passage, a malicious grin covering his face. Peter sighed resignedly and shifted his books to the other arm. He really didn't want to do this.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Peter extended his arm and firmly touched a pressure point in Jonathan's wrist, causing him to instantly retract it from his pathway. Jonathan gasped and snatched his hand into his chest. Peter took the opportunity to slip past him and sprint like mad to his class. he reached the door and slowly eased it open, trying to quiet his heavy breaths.

"Mr. Pevensie, you're late," the teacher, Mrs. Eddings, said reprovingly. "Please take your seat."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Eddings."

Peter ducked his head respectfully and hurried to his seat.

"Now, as I was saying-"

Mrs. Eddings began her lesson again, leaving Peter to set up his materials. Normally, art was his favourite class. But today, Peter couldn't quite muster the will to remain focused. His mind kept slipping back to Jonathan.

He deeply regretted having used that maneuver on him. It was a simple thing, really. One of the first things Oreius had showed them about brawling. Technically, the general was not supposed to have taught them that sort of thing, but being Oreius, he did so anyway.

Peter sighed and bit down on the inside of his lip fretfully. He didn't know why he'd done that. He should have just gone a different route. It would have made him a great deal later, but at least he would have peace of mind.

But maybe he'd done it because of the insult to Edmund. Peter frowned in despair and confusion. He was, by nature, very touchy about what was said about his brother, but he had never reacted so angrily to the words. He'd usually been one to ignore words.

This brought up new questions. What, in Aslan's name, had Edmund done to become the target of Jonathan's dislike? Surely he hadn't been _that _horrid before Narnia!

These thoughts and questions swirled in his mind, making him oblivious to the instructions his teacher was now issuing. Would Edmund be offended if he asked-

"Mr. Pevensie, are you listening?"

Mrs. Eddings' voice broke through the haze of queries. Peter shook his head in an attempt to banish the thoughts.

"Sorry, Mrs. Eddings," he apologized, mentally berating himself. "Could you repeat the instructions, please?"

She looked rather put out.

"Please try to pat attention when I'm speaking, Mr. Pevensie. I said that today's assignment is a relatively free. I want everyone to draw something otherworldly. Something that isn't in this world. Use your imagination to come up with it. I want you using pencil only. Did you get that?"

Peter nodded, "Yes, Mrs. Eddings."

"Then go right ahead," she gestured with her hands for them to begin.

Peter put his pencil to the paper and thought for a moment. Today would have been his favourite class, because it was free thought...whatever you wanted to draw, basically. But the questions detached him from it all. Absently, he began to sketch out the rough outline of a dryad, one of the characters that frequently appeared in the sketchbook he'd received from Edmund a year ago. He'd done them so many times that he could draw without thinking about it. Which was half of why he'd chosen it, it allowed him to return to the more important problem at hand.

Would Edmund be offended if he asked about it? He'd have to get some details from Jonathan sooner or later. He was positive he would be meeting up with him in the near future, by no planning of his own.

He leaned back in his chair abruptly as Edmund's face came unbidden to his mind. It was not a happy Edmund. It was Edmund after one of his nightmares, eyes round in fear, dark fringe damp with sweat, mouth parted slightly in horror. If Edmund was lying to him (and he was pretty sure he was) that meant that he had nobody to run to. Susan often disappeared in the evenings for one of the many sleep-overs she had with her friends. Lucy was excellent at lifting your spirits, but Peter knew Edmund wouldn't go to her. Edmund didn't even willingly go to himself for comfort! And if Peter knew his brother like he thought he did, Edmund would stubbornly remain awake all night if only to avoid the nightmares.

Peter sighed in frustration, unintentionally putting a rather dark stroke onto the paper with his pencil. He shouldn't have come here. Remaining at home would have been more profitable, and much more rewarding. More than anything right now, he wanted to go back home again. He wanted to see Edmund's impish grin, hear Lucy's sweet voice, and feel the gentle aura Susan put into the house. He didn't want to continue dealing with Jonathan. He was fast becoming more vulnerable to his jibes, and he wondered whether it was what he really was inside that was beginning to show. He shuddered.

Why was he even here? He could easily obtain a job back home that could support him reasonably throughout life. Why on _earth _was he here? That question thrashed at his consciousness. Why was he here?

"That's it for today, class, please turn your drawing in at the desk and you may go."

Mrs. Eddings' voice startled him out of reverie for the second time that day. He glanced down at his drawing. Not as good as it could be. He critiqued it briefly, musing over the lines and the shading. It would have to be good enough for today, he wouldn't be able to do anything else to it anyway. He turned it in and made his way out of the class.

Why was he here? That thought pursued him the rest of the day. He couldn't concentrate. His history teacher had to say his name three times to get his attention. And when he exited the last class of the day, he still had no answer. He wanted to be here, and yet at the same time he wanted to be as far away as possible. He had striven for this all his life. He had worked harder than ever, gone the extra two miles on everything, and set himself on the thought of college. Now that he was here, he was lost. More lost than he had ever been in his life, even as a ruler. Right now, he'd much rather be a ruler.

The books in his arms seemed light weights as he headed back for his dormitory.

That night, he slept uneasily, as he did for the rest of the week. His grades remained stable, but only because he'd studied so religiously for them beforehand. He knew that if he hadn't he would be averaging the failing grade. The days seemed long an torturous to him. He evaded Jonathan as much as possible, though he seemed to run into him more often than not. Jonathan was the final straw that razed Peter's nerves and mind to the ground every day. His harsh comments and snide remarks about Edmund left Peter roiling with anger. Every day, he walked away from him, his whole being trembling and boiling with fury beneath an impassive mask. It was a feeling so foreign to him that it unnerved him greatly the first time it surfaced.

On Friday, he made his way back to the dormitory again, his mind a little lighter at the prospect of the weekend. Perhaps he'd even collected enough money to visit his family. Aslan knew he'd been working over hours that week to gain enough to make the trip sometime soon.

And the question still pushed at him. He clenched his books in a white-knuckled grasp as he thought about it. Should he even be here? Why was he here?

It was that night that he met Jonathan in the empty corridor.

"Pevensie," Jonathan greeted coolly.

"Give up already, Brooks," said Peter distractedly. "Isn't it time you noticed that you're not going to rile me up?"

Jonathan gave him a, now familiar, sinister smile. "Oh, I'll get to you, Pevensie. It just takes a little bit of time."

Peter nodded nonchalantly, a little confused as the question continued to blind his rational.

"Goodnight."

"I'm not done with you," said Jonathan.

Peter shrugged and continued his pace, "Goodnight."

He walked past the boy, expecting to be blocked as he always was. But it never happened. A little surprised, and not just a little wary, Peter continued down the corridor.

"Your brother," called Jonathan boredly. "He's not all you think he is, you know."

Peter's shoulders tensed, but he kept walking.

"I know you think he's great and all that," continued Jonathan. "But have you ever considered what he does to you behind your back? He betrays you."

Peter stopped dead, his fingernails biting into his palm as he clenched it.

Jonathan laughed softly, "He's betrayed you so many times. Do you remember the punishment you got for that brawl back at the private school? He convinced them it was you who started it."

Peter turned stiffly, his whole body more taught than a drawn bowstring. Anger burned visibly behind his china-blue eyes.

Jonathan smiled mockingly at him and leaned against the wall. He thought it was anger towards his brother that was riling Peter up, but in reality, he had no idea what he was tapping into. The smugness of his expression increased as he said the final sentence, drawing out every syllable.

"Edmund is a traitor."

And at those words, Peter lost all reasonable thoughts. His eyes blurred over as his face burned hotly. He didn't even remember sprinting towards the boy before the heavy stack of books he carried slammed forcefully into Jonathan's stomach. There was a sharp exhale on Jonathan's part, but Peter couldn't hear it. Blood pounded in his ears. Blind anger fueled him. The sentence echoed emptily in his head: 'Edmund is a traitor'. Clenching his teeth furiously, he balled his fist and slammed it with all his might into Jonathan's jawbone.

Jonathan didn't even cry out as the fist connected, he just slid limply to the floor, unconscious. Peter watched him for a moment, fury smoldering and sparking in his eyes. How _dare _anyone call Edmund a traitor again!

It was only seconds before his senses started to come around. Had he just knocked somebody unconscious?

Reality hit him like a stony wall. What had he done? Peter began to back away, disbelief at his own actions making time slow itself. His throat closed in on him. He began to hyperventilate as Jonathan's prone form registered completely. He had just knocked somebody out cold with no reason other than provocation.

His head felt light. He had just done something _she _would do! Terror blind-sided him like a packed punch.

With a strangled cry, Peter rushed from the scene...but he wasn't running to hide, he wasn't that indecent nor cowardly. No, he was going to get the school nurse.

Frightened tears welled up in his eyes. What had happened to him? The tears threatened to spill over and down his face, but his pride wouldn't let him. His experience as High King wouldn't allow him to. It was all so wrong! So uncharacteristic of him! He'd never been angered to the point of a fight! Peter ran blindly for the nurse's office, slamming ungracefully into the door.

"Please open up," he pleaded shakily, raising a fist to knock weakly. "Please be here!"

There was silence. Peter backed away from the door, shaking his head in despair and disbelief.

"No. No, you have to be here," he cried softly, panic setting in. "You have to be here!"

Then the door opened and a sleepy looking woman peered out.

"Is somebody there?" she asked, blinking owlishly.

Peter stepped forward, clenched jaw trembling.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, training for impassiveness as a king kicked in. "I'm here. Please, there's somebody downstairs. He's hurt. Could you come quickly. Please?"

The last word held a plaintive note in it, a tone of desperation. The woman nodded.

"I'll be right there."

Peter waited anxiously for her to return to the door. The horror of what he'd actually been reduced to doing pounded mercilessly at his consciousness. How could he have done this! He was fighting against his throat as it closed against him, he was fighting a losing battle with his mind to remain calm and rational.

When the nurse reappeared with her medical bag, he hurriedly lead her downstairs to where Jonathan lay. The sight of the prone boy was enough to induce the hyperventilation again, but Peter controlled himself. Barely.

The nurse checked Jonathan over with a deft and and practiced eyes while Peter held a light.

"He'll be out for a while," she said finally, taking the flashlight from him and standing. "Do you know what happened? Who knocked him out?"

Peter clenched his fists.

"I did."

The nurse looked at him sharply, her eyes flickering over him appraisingly.

"You're not taking up for someone, are you?" she asked suspiciously. "One of the gangs that sometimes come up around the school?"

Peter shook his head.

"No, ma'am." He drew a breath. "It was me."

She eyed him for a moment before her expression cleared.

"You're an honest one," she said. "And a new one. I've never had anyone take up for their actions before. Much less come to get me."

She gave him a nod and turned to put things back into her bag. Peter hoped she would hurry. His control was slipping fast. Hot tears throbbed at the brink, concealed only by the surrounding darkness.

"I'll have a team bring him upstairs to the hospital section as soon as I can," she said to him, "The head will probably want to see you tomorrow morning for consequences. But for now, off you go to your dormitory."

The nurse moved towards the stairs and pattered up them quickly to call the team. Peter waited until her slippered feet had vanished from view before turning on his heel and bolting down the corridor, his focal point, the exit. As he went, his mind reeled with pain and confusion. Tears threatened to tumble down his cheeks again. One slipped from the corner of his eye and down his face, but he didn't notice it. He flung himself out the door and away from the building. He ran aimlessly across the campus, feet pounding into the ground.

He reached a shady corner, over shadowed by vast pines, and there he stumbled to the ground. His anguished breaths caused his lungs to explode in pain every time he breathed in. He crawled to one of the trees and took refuge in it's low branches, drawing his legs up into his chest. He hugged them tightly, burying his face in his knees, china-blue eyes scrunched shut against himself.

"_You've wanted this your whole life!"_

Edmund's words and familiar voice echoed in his ear.

"Oh, Edmund," choked Peter softly.

And with all his heart, for the first time since the battle of Beruna, Peter cried.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Hey, all. It's been a while, eh? I gave up on the whole Narnia fanfiction idea, I really did...but then I went back and started reading my stories again and decided I couldn't leave them unfinished. I can't promise I _will _finish them, because I'm a girl. I'm fickle, and tomorrow is vastly different than today. However, today I do happen to have another chapter for you. ;) I know...Yay! Lol. I was excited to start writing again.

Hope it's not too messed up...::snerk:: Have fun...

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em. Nope. I'm not that smart.

A Battle Without Weapons: Chapter...4?

"Don't be a bloody idiot, Susan, let me have that!" Edmund's arm shot out determinedly for the letter Susan held in her hand. She moved it away. Shorter than her younger brother though she was, she knew his temper and how to work with it.

Edmund dropped his arms and scowled at her, annoyed. "Don't, Susan," he said irritably. "You've got no right to keep my letters from me."

Susan raised her eyebrows. "Your letters? This isn't yours. It's not addressed to you."

"Bollox," Edmund accused flatly. "I saw the return address."

"Of course you did. But you didn't see the other one. It's addressed _to_ 'Mrs. Helen Pevensie', for your information," Susan told him shortly.

"Why would Peter write to mum?" Edmund exclaimed hotly, flapping his arms and attempting to snatch the letter again.

Susan merely moved away in the direction of their father's study, where their mother spent time with paperwork and letters. "You're not the only one Peter cares about," she said coolly. "Stop being so over dramatic."

Edmund had to snort at that. "Over dramatic? Me? Compared to you? Good one, Su. I didn't think you had it in you."

Susan paused, her back to him. Then she turned to him with a stony face. "Just because you're not getting your way for once doesn't mean you have to be cruel, Edmund," she admonished sharply.

The younger of the two pushed a hand roughly through his hair. "Fine. I'm sorry. Now can I have it?"

Susan just shook her head primly and reached for the handle to the study.

"Susan!"

She slipped through and closed the door behind her.

Edmund threw his head back and fisted his hands hard, restraining a cry of annoyance. He stood like that for a moment, silently arguing with himself on whether he should go after her and take the letter or leave it be.

It would be better he let it be, he decided. In the end he'd just end up in trouble if he went after her. That, however, didn't change his attitude. He stomped flatly from the house, taking time to make as much noise as possible. He knew he was acting ridiculous. He knew that. But it didn't give him the slightest inclination to stop.

Outside, the autumn breeze playfully rolled over him, tugging at his clothing and hair, making his temper worsen. Edmund grumpily pulled his light jacket closer, strode for the old tree in the backyard and slumped against it.

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath in. Held it. Then gradually let it out. He wasn't one to hold his temper in check, but given time, he would eventually calm himself down as best he could. Edmund looked up at the dreary sky and slowly, after another moment, allowed his thoughts and speculations to introduce themselves in his mind.

One thing he knew was for sure. That was not a letter from Peter. Susan may have taken his lead, but Edmund hadn't believed it for a second. He fancied he knew Peter's handwriting and knew that whatever graced the front of the letter didn't belong to him. Edmund had a not so uncertain theory it had come from the college head.

But why would the college be writing to their mother? He wondered, the critical side of his mind now in full observation mode, temper quite forgotten. Was Peter okay? Had somebody hurt him? Edmund snorted and dismissed it instantly. Nobody hurt Peter. He was High King of Narnia, for Aslan's sake and could darned well defend himself.

Edmund rifled thoughtfully through other options, mulling them over until he was sure the idea was possible or not. Peter had gotten a bad grade? Nah, that was dumb. Or maybe he'd gotten sick? Was he sick? That could be it. Edmund frowned at that thought and pushed a too-long, boyish fringe from his eyes. But if Peter was sick, then wouldn't he have written to say so? Perhaps his letter hadn't come just yet to inform him of this.

With a sigh, Edmund leaned his head back to look up at the cloudy, dismal sky again. It was oddly comforting...the dreary weather. It matched his mood anyway. Rather cool and slightly depressing.

There was a light snap that Edmund recognized as the door to the kitchen. He waited and a second later, Lucy came around the corner, dressed neatly and shoeless.

He raised his eyebrows when she got nearer. "Aren't your feet cold?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"No," Lucy replied simply.

Edmund leaned back against the tree again. "Has mum said anything to you?"

She considered him for a moment, her green eyes flickering over him. Assessing. Edmund could see her mind working overtime in ambivalence.

"The letter was about Peter," she said finally.

Edmund shifted his brown gaze from the clouds to her face.

"Oh really? I had no idea."

Lucy wasn't fazed by his sarcasm. She simply sat down on the swing and dragged the toe of her shoe in the grass, never taking her eyes from her older brother.

"Edmund, he punched another boy at school," she said softly.

Edmund blinked. "Wait...huh?"

The swing stopped it's motions and two penetrating green eyes settled on him. "Peter punched a boy at school," she repeated.

It took a full five seconds to register.

"He _WHAT_?!?" Edmund exclaimed forcefully, leaping to his feet with disbelief burning in his eyes.

"It's in the letter. Go read it for yourself."

Edmund stared at her as if she were mad. Then spun and marched across the lawn towards the house.

"On the kitchen table," Lucy added, calling after him.

o O o O o O o O o O o

Later that night, Edmund glowered darkly at the moonlit ceiling from beneath heavy covers. The news today was too strange. Too unlikely.

"Punched a boy at school," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "Bollox."

Then again, Peter had been known for the occasional irrational (in the school boards' eyes) lashout...Edmund never needed to ask why.

"Why did you do it, Peter?" he asked the ceiling. "What did he say that made you mad?"

"I'll wager my healing juice from Father Christmas it was something about you, Ed."

Edmund glared at the darkness within his open doorway.

"I thought I told you not to do that," he accused.

There was a light snort of dry amusement. "And you thought I would listen? You forget that I have you as an older brother," Lucy reminded him, coming over and crawling onto the base of the bed. "And I don't think you realize just how stubborn you are."

Edmund sighed and sat up, leaning against his headboard. "Well, Lu, what are we going to do?"

She looked at him curiously. "What do you mean? What are we supposed to do?"

"Uh, hello, Peter isn't happy at school," Edmund said.

Lucy smiled slightly, looking at him with an amused gaze. "We don't know that, Ed," she said. "All we know is that he was provoked and punched the boy who did it."

"I think that classifies as 'unhappy'," said Edmund, raising a dark eyebrow.

Lucy stared at him for a moment. "Edmund, out of all four of us, you are the worst mother hen," she laughed gently.

"What?!" Edmund scowled at her. "Not compared to old Blondie-Blue-Eyes, I'm not."

She merely smiled at him. "Sure, you're not."

Edmund opened his mouth but Lucy shot off another question. "Has he seemed unhappy in his letters?"

"Well, you know..." Edmund shrugged. "It's not like he's loving it."

"Right," Lucy nodded. "Which means that he's simply at school. Learning."

"I think he's not happy," Edmund argued flatly.

"Of course you don't, Ed," Lucy explained patiently. "He's your older brother, your favorite sibling, and your best friend. You haven't been away from him for more than a week at a time, you're basically twins." She shook her head. "And now that he's gone, you'll take any excuse to say he needs to come back."

"That's not true," Edmund said defensively, folding his arms. "I will not."

"Peter does it too, Ed," Lucy said, tugging absently at a long lock of hair. "You just can't see it because you don't observe the both of you from an outsider's point of view."

"I..." Edmund searched for the words. "I...well...no..." he sighed and finished lamely. "You're making things up."

"Believe what you want," the youngest queen shrugged lightly. "I'm just telling you what it's like from the outside over here."

"You're not 'on the outside', Lucy," Edmund countered with a derisive snort.

"Maybe I'm not," she agreed. "I'm just speculating."

"Lucy." Edmund gazed at her with intense brown eyes. "Peter just doesn't up and punch people. You know that."

"I know he up and punches people if they happen to insult you," Lucy contradicted grimly. "And if it's bad enough, he'll do it for me and Susan also. But everybody who's seen you and Peter together knows the spot to hit when they want."

"Who would be at his school who knows us?" Edmund asked promptly.

Lucy shrugged, and, looking down at the coverlet, began to trace invisible patterns with her finger. "It could be anyone, for all we know. Why don't you send him a letter and ask him about it?"

Edmund looked at her incredulously. "And what? Oh, hey Peter, it's Edmund. I think the kid who you beat up is someone we know. Could you confirm that for me? That's a nice letter, Luce, nice indeed."

"Well, obviously you wouldn't put it like that," Lucy said, frowning. "For heaven's sake, I know you're more eloquent than that."

The older rolled his eyes and looked away, glaring out the window. There was a shift at the end of the bed where Lucy sat up and crossed her legs, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"Do you really think Peter isn't up to reading something like that?" She asked quietly, gazing at him with her damnable imploring green eyes.

Edmund's brown ones snapped on to her, and he instantly realized his mistake as he met her eyes. The whole family knew all too well not to look at the youngest if she wanted something. It was basically over if you met her face.

He sighed. "It's not that I don't think he's up to it," he replied at last. "I just don't want to give him any more reason than he already has to come back."

"And why shouldn't he come back?"

"Because," Edmund said, waving an arm. "...well...I don't know. I can't say he's what I think he is, which is unhappy, because you seem to have the idea he's fine where he is."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "And that's all you know."

"I still say he needs to come back," Edmund informed her curtly.

"That's not a reason, Ed," she said. "If he's not happy, then why ever can he not come back? It's his choice."

"You said yourself 'he's just at school. Learning.' You said he wasn't unhappy."

"I did," Lucy acknowledged with a thoughtful frown. "But can't you see? If he's not happy to be there and he's not unhappy, then what is he? You may be just giving him the desired excuse to leave." She smiled crookedly. "Not that it's much of a reason to anybody else."

"Lucy." Edmund stared her down with a glare. "He always wanted to go to college. Always. I won't be responsible for taking that dream away from him. Not when he already has it."

"But what if that isn't?"

"Isn't what?" Edmund snapped.

"You know what I'm talking about," Lucy sighed. "That dream of going to college was before he went to Narnia. And that dream was before you became his best friend. To sound like Susan, look at it logically for once."

"Don't give me a Susan lecture," Edmund accused grumpily, sinking further into his pillows.

"I'm not Susan," Lucy reminded him gently, slipping off the bed and onto the floor. "And I won't give you a lecture."

She silently moved to the door where she paused.

"Edmund?"

"What?" he grunted.

"Peter never mentioned wanting to go to college after we got back."

And she left him there to glower in the darkness, slightly more hopeful than he had been mere hours ago. Perhaps Peter was waiting for an excuse (though it seemed highly against his character). Possibly...was Lucy right?

**Author's Note: **So, yeah. I know, I know...dialogue city. But that's what came to me last night in the deep, saneless caverns of my twisted mind. Lol. Tell me what you think. ::jaunty wink::


End file.
